


What Happens in the Shower Stays in the Shower

by Delirious21



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Premature Ejaculation, Shower Sex, Size Difference, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-26 21:51:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18725674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delirious21/pseuds/Delirious21
Summary: Ultra Magnus is tired of dealing with Wheeljack's insubordination, and the only logical solution is a good frag. One that doesn't go quite as planned.





	What Happens in the Shower Stays in the Shower

“Make me.”

On Ultra Magnus’ list of worst interactions with Wheeljack, this one made top three, easy. The wrecker was trailing oil all throughout base, and he had the audacity to ignore Ultra Magnus’ order to clean himself? 

“Wheeljack,” Magnus scolded. “Go to the washracks, immediately.”

“You’re gonna have to drag me, chief.” Wheeljack smirked, exuding confidence. Before Magnus could escape, he reached out with an oil-covered servo and snagged one of his finials. “If you don’t, I’ll just paint the whole base with oil and grease. Do you really want that?”

Ultra Magnus yanked back, ignoring the sickening feel of warm oil sliding down his hypersensitive finial. “Is that a threat,” he rumbled. 

Wheeljack shrugged. “You might want to wash too, ‘cause you got a little somethin’...” he motioned to the Second in Command’s finial. 

So far, nothing monumental had happened that cycle. The children were in school, Optimus and the others were running combat exercises, and Ratchet was hunched over his monitor doing who-knew-what. If anything were to happen, Optimus would call. All things considered, and sticky black gunk on the side of his helm, Ultra Magnus snatched Wheeljack’s wrists and all but dragged him to the washracks. The wrecker barely fought back, and there was a shit-eating grin plastered to his face. 

Ultra Magnus practically tossed Wheeljack into the washroom when they got there. Scowling all the way, he turned on the water in the adjacent block and started to wash his helm, careful not to play with his finial too much. The last thing he wanted was to get aroused. It didn’t help that Wheeljack was washing  _ everything _ , no shame whatsoever. Ultra Magnus hadn’t seen that spike in eons, but it was the same as he remembered. All the wreckers, in the washracks, revealed themselves. “Deep clean,” they called it. And the “deep clean” almost always ended with a writhing mass of Bots. Wheeljack on top. 

For a split second, Ultra Magnus forgot to stop rubbing his finial. 

“I think you’re fin’s clean there, chief.”

Magnus snapped out of it and stopped. His spike chafed against his vanity panel, reminding him of the centuries of lonely, pathetic self-service. The last time he’d felt another mech’s touch was during Cybertron’s Golden Age. 

“Chief?” Wheeljack frowned and stepped closer. “You good?”

He was so close he could reach out and grab him, pull him into a kiss. Ultra Magnus blinked. “You are still filthy.”

Wheeljack glanced at his servos. “Yeah, I got distracted.” His servos snaked around Magnus’ neck and dragged him down into a sloppy kiss. 

For a moment, Ultra Magnus wanted to pull away, feeling the oil spreading, sticking to his plating and seeping into seams. But those lips, so rough and scarred, so sweet yet undeniably bitter, kept him in place. He rested his massive servos on those swaying grey hips, humming when Wheeljack’s pressurizing spike rubbed against his inner thigh. 

“Wheeljack,” Magnus gasped, breaking for a breath. His panels slid open, systems hissing with the partial relief. 

Wheeljack’s dirty digits tweaked sensitive wires and carressed Magnus’ tense back. “Let me spike you,” he said. 

Ultra Magnus froze. “Absolutely not.” 

“What, you want to top?” Wheeljack looked him over. “Had you pegged as a bottom.”

Magnus scoffed. Any sensible mech enjoyed a good spiking, but he wasn’t about to say that Wheeljack was more right than wrong. Not when this was a battle for dominance. Rather than speaking, Magnus pushed down on Wheeljack’s hips, urging him to kneel. 

The wrecker didn’t waste any time. Ultra Magnus hissed when those sweet lips closed on the head of his throbbing spike. He could see the strain in Wheeljack’s jaw as he struggled to take the massive thing. That didn’t mean he stopped himself from thrusting into that warm, wet suction. He moaned when his spike bumped against the back of Wheeljack’s intake. 

That was the only moment of weakness Wheeljack needed to slip one of his digits inside of the larger mech’s weeping valve. Ultra Magnus thrust again, trying to rock down onto that calloused digit, but he caught himself and pulled Wheeljack to stand again. Their lips crashed together and Ultra Magnus backed them against a wall, pinning Wheeljack as they groped each other’s afts and chassis. 

Magnus detached from Wheeljack’s tempting lips to kiss a sloppy trail down his neck, nibbling and licking exposed wires. “Lift your legs,” he rumbled. 

Wheeljack scoffed. “Make me.”

Gripping behind the knee, Magnus yanked Wheeljack’s legs up, hooking them around his hips so that his valve and spike were pressed flush against Magnus’ twitching spike. 

“I will not stand for such insubordination,” he all but growled, canting his hips so his spike slipped through the folds of his partner’s wet valve. 

Wheeljack moaned and swirled his hips, teasing. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

Ultra Magnus lined his spike up with the fluttering, tempting valve. In one smooth motion, he slammed home. Wheeljack yelped and bit down on Magnus’ shoulder, legs quivering. 

Sinking deeper into the tight, convulsing heat, Magnus rumbled, “What are you going to do about it,  _ sir _ .”

Wheeljack released his shoulder, carefully licking the bitemark. “Ah,” he panted. “Yes, sir!”

Ultra Magnus grinned, pulling out and plowing back into Wheeljack. The sounds he was making were just too delicious to stop. Setting a brutal pace, charge growing so quickly, too quickly, Magnus thrust with all he could muster, pinning Wheeljack between the wall and his merciless spike. 

Wheeljack arched when Magnus’s fat spike his his interior node, surging further back to tease the rim of his gestation chamber. “Ah, Magnus!” he cried. “Slag you’re so big!”

Ultra Magnus was too close to the edge to realize Wheeljack’s mistake, and before he could think about it too much, he was tipping over the edge. It was embarrassingly fast, but he couldn’t stop from slamming into Wheeljack one last time, thrusting through his overload, biting his lip to keep from moaning. There was so much transfluid it seeped out around his spike and ran down his thighs. 

Wheeljack groaned, but his face contorted like he’d just eaten a sour energon candy. “Is that all?”

Ultra Magnus felt the heat creeping to his finials as he pulled out and moved under the water to wash himself off. Wheeljack followed.

“Seriously?” He scoffed. “You really are a bottom.”

“Leave, Wheeljack,” Magnus grumbled, cleaning his spike. “We are done here.”

Wheeljack crossed his arms and glared. “You that rusty, old timer? ‘Cause I’m not done.” He unfolded his arms just enough to wrap a servo around his spike, the other dipping between Magnus’ legs. “You don’t have to be ashamed, if you are.” 

His voice was softer, his servos slower, his lips brushing Magnus’ chassis. It was endearing, an odd term to describe anything coming from the rough, battle-hardened mech. 

Ultra Magnus let his optics cycle down. “I do not need your sympathy. Of all mechs, not yours,” he said.

Wheeljack slowly inserted a digit into Magnus as he whispered, “What about Optimus?”

It was almost comforting for that jousting tone to return. “Not a soul, Wheeljack.”

“Say my name again, slower.”

And the burning shame was back. Magnus didn’t say anything, focusing on the second digit snaking into him. 

Wheeljack licked the crest of Magnus’ chassis. “Say it, or I stop.”

Ultra Magnus glanced between them, watching Wheeljack’s spike as he whispered his name. It twitched eagerly, and a third digit was added to his valve. Magnus gasped, trying to grind down onto it. He hadn’t had good, slow, gentle foreplay in a long time. 

“Wheeljack,” he husked out. “Do not stop.”

“Is that an order, chief?” Wheeljack stopped touching the blue bot’s spike long enough to spin Magnus so his back was pressed against a stall wall. He grabbed Magnus’ wrist and together they sank to the floor, digits still immersed. 

Ultra Magnus splayed his legs as Wheeljack situated himself between them. Wheeljack pulled his digits out of Magnus’ clenching valve and made a show of using the transfluid-covered servo to tease his own spike, then lifting the servo to his mouth and licking it clean. Magnus watched silently, intently, engine revving and valve cycling around nothing. 

Wheeljack leaned in for a kiss, swirling his glossa around Magnus’ mouth, offering a taste of their shared transfluids. The two moaned, grasping desperately for any hold they could find on each other. 

“Nng, Wheeljack,” Magnus moaned. “I. . . thank you.”

Wheeljack kissed a crooked trail down Magnus’ abdomen. “Don’t thank me yet, big guy. We haven’t gotten to the good part.” He winked, peppering kisses on the underbelly of Magnus’ spike. 

Magnus groaned, letting his helm fall back. “Why— ah— are you doing this?” he gasped. 

“I’ve got pity for the old.” Ultra Magnus scoffed as Wheeljack grinned, moving to straddle his hips. He leaned in close enough so their lips brushed when he spoke. “I’m kidding. I know what it’s like to need a good frag. You gotta relax, boss. Like this.” 

Ultra Magnus couldn’t help but capture that stubborn mech’s lips. He could count, on one servo, the number of times someone understood his needs in bed. Granted, they weren’t exactly in a bed. As they kissed, Magnus jolted because Wheeljack started to sink onto his spike. He stopped with just the tip inside. 

He pulled free to gasp, “What are you—”

Wheeljack shut him up by moving an inch or so down. Magnus clasped his hips, thumbs rubbing circles on the smooth metal. 

“Isn’t this what you wanted, Magnus?” Wheeljack purred, sinking down until Magnus was completely sheathed inside him. “Mmm, you feel so good.”

Ultra Magnus stole another kiss. A pit dropped in his tanks when he realized he was far too rough the first time around. He could feel the strain in Wheeljack’s valve, and he knew he was a tight fit, pressed flush against the back of his valve, too thick for any transfluid to stay inside him. 

Wheeljack started to lift, but Magnus’ servos on his hips kept him planted.

“What’s wrong, boss?” Wheeljack asked. His servos danced over Magnus’ chassis. 

Ultra Magnus raised a servo to cup Wheeljack’s jaw. He realized how awkward doing so was only after his palm was smoothed against his face. When he tried to drop the servo, Wheeljack leaned into it, holding it up to his face. 

“Do what you want,” he said, blazing blue optics staring into Magnus’ spark. “I’m not gonna stop you from doing what makes you happy.”

Magnus felt, embarrassingly enough, a blush tinge his cheeks. “Did I hurt you earlier, Wheeljack?”

“A little, but I liked it.”

He wasn’t sure if he should continue with his apology. It didn’t surprise him that Wheeljack, of all bots, would be a masochist. “I am sorry. I was. . . frustrated.”

Wheeljack chuckled. “You were pissed. But that doesn’t matter now.” This time, as he started to swivel his hips, Ultra Magnus didn’t stop him. 

Wheeljack braced himself on Magnus’ shoulders and rose off of his spike just to ease back down. Ultra Magnus was trembling beneath him, kissing anything he could reach, moaning as his charge grew. Gradually, Wheeljack picked up his pace, but it was nowhere near as brutal as it had been earlier. It created a slow burn in them both, and Magnus started thrusting to meet Wheeljack’s pace, sparking hidden nodes and panting as they chased their charges. 

“Magnus,” Wheeljack gasped, dropping onto his spike. “I’m so close. Your spike is so—nng— damn good.”

Ultra Magnus thrust harder, reaching between them to stroke Wheeljack’s spike. “I am glad you —ah— think so.”

They thrust in tandem, Magnus spilling over first. His transfluid filling the little bit of space left in Wheeljack’s valve, most of it seeping out around Magnus’ twitching spike, overstimulated Wheeljack and he overloaded. His valve cycled down hard as he cried Ultra Magnus’ name. Magnus was quieter, but Wheeljack could have sworn he heard his name slipping from his lips.

They collapsed onto each other, surprisingly exhausted from the slowest, most intimate interfacing either of them ever experienced. Wheeljack kissed Magnus’ jaw, sloppy, as he soaked in the post-overload bliss. 

“See, this is good, isn’t it?” he whispered. 

Ultra Magnus nodded. “It is. Thank you.”

“Any time. Although, I’ve got an idea for next time.”

**Author's Note:**

> When I have time, this will become a part of a series. Ultra Magnus basically frags anything with a spike. 
> 
> *^-^ Thanks for reading!


End file.
